The Ballad of Serenity
by Miss Riku
Summary: Firefly's first episode, Sereinty parts 1 and 2, in written form. Current spot: Serenity, In space. STORY ON HOLD UNTILL FURTHER NOTICE!
1. Battle at Serenity Valley

**I decided that I might try and write a novelization of select Firefly episodes. Of course, I'd be starting with the first one, so here's chapter one. It's suppose to be a bit 'off' I guess...I mean, like, not so emotional and 'readable'. It's meant to sound 'rough'. **

**I OWN NOTHING!!!! ALL CREDIT TO JOSS WHENDON!!! *Bows at his awesome mind* **

**()()()**

"_Fire in the ranks!"_

Anther explosion echoed across the valley, lighting up the dark sky for but a moment with it's fury, then sending it black again. Men wearing rugged clothing and dark colored army gear scrambled though their crudely made sand-bag barricades, trying to evade the flying shrapnel and bullets. Others, wearing blue colored and neat looking uniforms, fired into darker one's ranks from behind equally crude barricades— the only actual physical difference between the two groups was that the blues had shinier clothes, and somewhat bigger guns.

Both were hiding, trying their best to stay out of sight while killing the most of the other as possible, wrecking havoc on the once peaceful Serenity Valley. Both side secretly hoped that this would be the last battle in this blood war, a war that had stretched across galaxies and planets, engages scattered from one side of the 'verse to the other.

Both wanted it to end, both wanted to win, and both wanted to stay out of the way of flying bullets and lasers.

That is, with the exception of one man.

As bullets and shrapnel, guns and bodies, flew around in the sand and dirt, a lone man dove out from behind a barricade and into the path of a large armored truck. He was rugged looking; dirty tan pants, heavy looking belt, dark colored boots. His shirt was brown--a dress shirt that had long since been ruined with sweat and dust—he also had on a sandy colored trench coat (An attempt at warming himself, as the night was cold with a chilly wind whipping about); his hands were covered in old black gloves and his fingers grasped a rather large gun. He tripped slightly on the rocky terrain, just barely catching himself.

His medium sized frame turned, looking back at the truck that was going along behind him, his dark blue eyes gazing up and down for a moment before tossing a small grenade, and firing off a few rounds. Then, with hardly another glance, he broke out into a fast jog, and got out of the road as abruptly as he got on it. Landing in a rocky terrain, he hopped around the rocks with agility, just as the truck he was running in front of, blew and burst into many colors of vibrant flame.

He jogged through the rock valley, aiming for a friendly barricade a few yards away; his breathing heavy, face sweaty, hands gripping the gun. His rugged, yet somewhat soft, features turned around once just to make sure he wasn't being....oh, look.

Spinning round, he fell against the side of the sandbags--landing on his left shoulder--and fired off about three rounds at a soldier, who was dressed in the shiny blue, and had foolishly decided to follow him.

After making sure the solder was dead, he climbed around the side of the barricade and inside, where he found the rest of his so-called 'platoon', sitting around and occasionally firing off a couple shots over the walls. Across the sandy ground, boxes and crates were scattered, filled with extra ammo and other items that they had been using over the past 48—or so--hours of this pretty little shindig.

Hunched over, he walked to one of the crates, a slight smile toying in his features; ah, yes, h e did love blowing that up.

He let himself sit down, easing his aching legs for a moment, and leaned forward onto one of them. Exciting gorram stuff was going on, that was for sure. Gorram thrills.

"Sargent!" He looked over to see one of the men come over to him, crunched down to avoid getting killed. The soldier looked dirty and tired, like everyone else; his bald head coated with dirt and shimmering with sweat. The Sargent, our man, straightened his back and looked down at the squatting form, "Command says air support is holding 'till they can asses our status."

"Out status is we need some gorram air support!" He replied, voice loud enough to be heard around, making his annoyance very obvious. Asses their status, his rear end...

More men started gathering around their leader, our man, one in particulate caught The Sergeant's attention; she—yes, indeed she was a she—was slightly on the taller side, dressed in the same dark, ruddy, and dirty attire as everyone else, gun in her gloved hands, with curly black hair tied back in a messy fashion. Her dark brown eyes looked even darker against her chocolate colored skin, and her voice was out of breath and quick, "They're skiffing us, Sir."

Before the Sargent could form a suitable, witty reply, the bald soldier from earlier called over, "They won't move without a lieutenant's authorization code, Sir."

With obvious sore joints, the Sargent got back to his feet, and ran over—hunched, of course—to the body of a dead Lieutenant—their Lieutenant—a few yards away, still in the same position it was in when the poor _hwun dan_'s gut was ripped. Saying a quick prayer to himself, The Sargent ripped off the Lieutenant's insignia, then went back to the bald one, and slammed in the man's hand.

"Here, here's your code," His voice was hinted with sarcasm, "You're Lieutenant Baker. Congratulations on your promotion." He pointed off towards the talkie, "Now get me some gorram air support!" with that, the bald man scurried off, insignia clutched tightly between dirty fingers.

The Sargent took a deep breath, then turned back to the men who still sat watching him, waiting for orders, waiting for direction—his direction.

He knelt down, "Pull back just far enough to wedge 'em in there," with his left hand, he motioned to the ground behind him, over the barricade, "get your squad to high ground--start picken' them off."

"High ground is death with that skiff." The female soldier cut in, breath still trying to catch up to her voice.

Smiling ever so slightly, he replied, "That's our problem, thanks for volunteering." Then he looked over to another soldier, a young pup, not even old enough to shave, with a light skin and two big, wide, blue eyes, looking terribly lost, "Bendis, give us some cover fire, we're going duck hunting--"

He was left unable to finish the thought when an explosion racked against ground, only a few feet away. Shrapnel flew, soldiers recoiled and covered their heads; the flying debris ripped down the poor soul who sat next to Bendis. The kid's eyes widened beyond their natural boundaries, looking like two dots of pure snow on a mound of mud. The rest of the men were obviously shaken.

"J-Just focus!" The Sargent cursed himself for his stutter, how could he get the men to focus if he couldn't control his own gorram voice?, "The Alliance said they were gonna waltz through Serenity Valley, and we choked them with those words." The men started to calm back down a bit; The Sargent tried to keep his voice level, "Just a little while longer, our angels are gonna be soaring overhead, raining fire on those arrogant _khangs_. So you hold." He looked around the circle of men—the men sitting around him, shivering with fear, the only family that he has left in the whole 'verse, "You hold! Go!"

Unable to think of anything else encouraging to say, he crawled away towards a pile of ammo. The men dispersed, slightly energized, but most of them feeling a sense of 'okay, but we're still gonna die'.

The female followed the Sargent, hunching down next to him as he sat in the dirt, loading his gun, "You really think we can bring her down, Sir?" she also started loading some dope.

"You even need to ask?"

Then he turned away, reaching inside his shirt, and pulling out a old and battered cross necklace. He had been in this war since the beginning, since that first battle, and two things had kept him going: His determination, and God. Neither of 'em had let him down yet, and hell, heaven sounded pretty good right now.

Closing his eyes, he muttered a quick prayer, then kissed the cross; and as quickly as he pulled it out, he stuffed it back in. Turning to his female soldier, he asked, "Ready?"

She was still out of breath, but she smiled a tired, yet encouraging, smile, "Always, Sir."

The two of them started their somewhat stealthy decent away from the barricade, going a couple steps down the slop before they realized that there was only two of them, and the third was back inside, huddling scared.

"Bendis!" The female hissed, trudging back up, The Sargent following a couple steps, "Bendis!" The youth replied with a fearful glance in her direction, but didn't move. She cursed aloud, then got to her feet, firing off a couple rounds of cover fire down into Serenity. The Sargent, catching the drift, scurried back down the barricade and out the side, firing of his loaded—rather large—gun the entire time, and of course claiming a couple corpses as his own personal handy work.

An explosion rocked the ground around him, and he dove for cover behind some large boulders. The female followed, diving down next to him. He granted her a quick glance of recognition, then slowly stuck his head over the boulders top, eyes spying a Alliance—the shiny, blue, large gunned ones—barricade a few yards below, down a small but steep slope. Inside was a lone gun man and a _big_ machine_ gun._

The Sargent _really_ wanted that gun.

So he stuck _his_ gun over the top of the boulder and fired at the enemy, missing—gorram—and alerting the soldier to him, and his female companion's, previously concealed presence. The blue one looked back, then hastily reached for his gun, but didn't have time to return fire, as The Sargent, with another shot, claimed another soul. With the female in tow, he climbed around the sides of the boulders and slid down the slope to the machine and its no longer breathing owner.

After tossing his gun aside, he grasped the large gun's trigger, and fit his shoulders snugly inside the bands. Without hesitation, he fired off at the Alliance fighters—the shape of them reminded him of a boomerang—hitting one and sending it soaring downward, fire blowing from the right wing.

"Yeah!" He cried out, jumping back away from the gun, and grinning triumphantly over at his companion, "Huh!"

She promptly was looking the other direction, and inherently missed his display of manliness entirely. Slightly annoyed by this, he looked back up at the crashing fighter, only to realize that it had decided to crash—conveniently—right on top of him.

His face fell instantly, and he broke out into a run towards the female, "Zoe!" He tackled her, just in time to feel the heat of a crashed plane against his back, and get pushed further by the force. They both landed on the sand with a hard _thud. _Both of them felt the intense heat of the flame, even though they were yards away.

The Sargent quickly recovered, looking back at the burning wreckage. After a moment, he laid back against the dirt. He can't help but laugh a victorious, slightly taunting laugh, and smile to himself; this was a good day. The female, who actually is named Zoe, also laid back against the sand, but instead of laughter she rolled her eyes and sighed at her Sergeant's perception of 'fun'.

Minutes later, they climbed back behind the sand-bags base, The Sargent still chuckling to himself, but Zoe taking on the defensive as she looked at Bendis—whose eyes were still unusually wide—and saying sarcastically, "Nice cover fire."

The Sargent was totally oblivious, continuing to smile, "Did you see that!?" For a moment, he looked like a hyper five year old who just got his first hover car, but only for a moment. Once that moment was up, he was back to leader man, "Green, what's our status on--" he was cut short when he saw Green's, the bald headed one's, body, lying up against a crate, deep cuts across it's head. The Sergeant's face went almost blank for a second, but then he looked away, "Zoe."

Zoe climbed over to where Green's body was, looking the soldier over for any signs of life, and finding none. She sighed.

Meanwhile, the Sargent crawled over to where Bendis was sitting, curled up against the wall, looking rather dazed. The Sargent couldn't stand to see one of his men in such disarray—especially Bendis. That kid was so damn sorrowful lookin' when he wanted to be; always was, and most likely always would be.

"Bendis. Hey, Bendis, look at me." Slowly, the kid's wandering and frantic eyes locked with his, "Listen, we're holding this valley, no matter what."

Bendis looked away, "We're gonna die."

The Sargent replied, "We're not gonna die. We _can't_ die Bendis, you know why?" The kid looked back at his leader again, and the leader smiled, sticking more ammo into his gun while he talked, "We are just to pretty....We are just to pretty for God to let us die--" with his left hand, The Sargent grasped Bendis's jaw, giving it a slight shake, trying to encourage, "--Huh? Look at the chiseled jaw, huh?" all he got from the youth was a total blank look, "Come on--!"

_Engines roaring. _The Sargent never thought he heard a more beautiful sound than that, the sweet thunder of aircraft, the feeling of the wind whipped up against your face, the chills that went down his spine—the thing he heard right then. Looking up to the skies, his smile grew all the wider,

"If you won't listen to me, listen to that. Those are our angels." He gave Bendis a hopeful grin, "They're gonna blow the alliance to the hot place." then called back over to Zoe, "Zoe! Tell the 82nd to--"

"They're not coming."

_What?_

"Command says it's to hot," Zoe's voice is even and unemotional, she slowly pulled the talkie away from her ear, "they're pulling out," she looked over her shoulder at he Sargent—her leader—helplessly, "we're to lay down arms."

Things seemed to slow. The Sargent looked at Zoe, mouth slightly agape, then back at Bendis, and back again at Zoe— he also looking totally helpless, "But what's--" he stops himself. No, no it can't....it can't...

Slowly, for the fist time in a long time, he stood up _straight_, his gaze falling over the valley below, and the skies above. It landed upon his greatest horror: Alliance cruisers, firing off beams of deadly lasers into Serenity. The screams of the men, _HIS_ men, the men he served with, echoed across the sands and between the boulders. He was so taken aback and totally blank that he didn't even notice Bendis, who followed his leader in standing, get shot through. He didn't even hear the body fall onto the cold, hard ground.

Time slowed to a near halt, the screams mix in with the gunfire sounds, everything felt numb.

And, for the first time in a very long time, Sargent—Our Sargent—Malcolm Reynolds, had absolutely nothing to say.

**()()()()**

**Anywho; love or hate? The reception I get might decided whether to continue, or just leave this as a one shot :) So please, if you read, R&Ring would be wonderful. I reply to all reveiws, PMing the writer—whether it's negative or positive. Thanks!!**

**~Miss. R.**


	2. Alliance Goods

**Wow, that took a while! But it looks like this is going to be it for a bit. My life is a bit full right now. Thanks a bunch to my BETA, Arem, for going over this for me! **

()()()

6 Years Later:

"The vault's sealed. Okay, I'm going to boil it. Jayne, give me a sticky."

The words rolled off his tongue like a new born baby across a linoleum floor, with hardly a pause between them. Although they sounded a bit crisper over the space suit's radio systems, they still held a twinge of authority that was familiar in Captain Malcolm Reynolds' everyday speech. That is, unless he's fooling, which he commonly was. Technically his speech could be separated into two categories: authoritative orders and witty quips. It wasn't that he was limited, just that he felt that that's all he needed to say.

Since he was floating in space that moment, he opted for the more serious tone.

All around him was a perfect view of the heavens, stretching out in all visible direction. Spotted with shimmering stars and planets that all looked like glowing fires. The weightless, empty vacuum of space. And once upon a time, it had been just that: space - where a man could breath (well, not literally). But now it was all Alliance property. Good ol' Alliance. Ya gotta love Chinese food.

Mal was suspended in front of a large vault door that was connected to a much larger space craft which was obviously deserted and, hence, had no more use to the objects concealed behind the locked door.

The ship drifted silently though space: dark, alone, dead in the water. Mal wasn't sure how long it had been there, only that it was his job to take the goods—Alliance goods, as he'd been told by his tipper, a street king on Persephone that went by the name of Badger. His real name was unknown so either his parent's had interesting taste, or he was embarrassed by somethin'. It was Mal's job to get the goods, get them to Badger, and _cha-ching_: yee haw.

Two others were floating behind him. The first was a lady who Mal called 'Zoe' and the other, a guy named Jayne who silently drifted closer to Mal and placed a gun like object in the Captain's hand. Mal looked down at it a moment then moved closer to the door.

Slowly but surely he pulled the trigger on the device and drew it along the door's handle, leaving behind a trail of glue-like substance. After this was completed, Mal pushed himself away from the door, doing a back flip and landing between his two companions. There wasn't a sound to be heard as the threesome watched the substance turn a bright fire red and the lock slowly turn from a solid into a liquid, melting slowly into space.

"Okay," Mal spoke into the com, his voice sounding into the helmets the other two individuals. "We get the goods, we're off of this wreck, and back on the ship. No worries."

Suspended in space, right outside the wreck was a space ship. A Mid bulk Transport, standard radion-accelerator core. Class Code 03-K64. Relatively small, rustic looking, two engines sticking out from either side—much like wings—with a larger one on the back. The front was rounded, peaked at the end, much like a head. It looked somewhat like a large bug, or insect....or a firefly.

Painted on either side, under each engine, was a setting sun. Colors mostly oranges and reds. Then, across it, written in bold black paint was one word:

**Serenity. **

()()()()

"Everything looks fine from here."

Pilot Hoban Washburne—or simply, Wash, as he liked to be called—looked down onto the dashboard of Serenity's control center. Little buttons flashed from underneath plastic trees and rocks. In his hands were two plastic toys - dinosaurs, to be exact, In his left was a small Tyrannosaurus Rex and in his right a...well, he actually really know what that one was, to be totally honest. It was kinda...ah...blue...spiky....thingy...he didn't really care.

Wash's home-away-from-cabin was relatively small compared to other ships he had flown. Two semi-circular dashboards next to one another, each with their own seat and computer system. Screens lined the walls, right and left, and some were hanging from the ceiling. The condition was generally what Wash liked to call primitive. The walls made of dark red metal, the floor looking more like his grandma's patchwork quilt than anything else, and chairs that squeaked when he sat down in them did not exactly create a 'desirable flying experience' but he loved it. Ships with a few miles on 'em were his personal favorite.

"Yes…" He shook the blue-dino-thing as if it was talking. "Yes, this is a fertile land and we will thrive." His voice has a whimsical sound to it, a bit weird, just like the Hawaiian shirt he was wearing -white, with dark green flowers. It wasn't his favorite, but his dear wife said it looked sexy with his short, light blond hair, so he kept it. "We will rule over this land, and we will call it....this land." _Guess it has a nice ring to it....ah, whatever. _

Then he shook the Rex, his somewhat thick hands grasping its back, and talking in a more gravely, nasal tone. "I think we should call it your grave!"

"Ah!" Wash groaned, now shaking the blue one. "Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!"

"Haha!" Now the Rex, letting out a attempt at a evil crackle. "Mine is a evil laugh!..Now die!"

Violently, but not too violently of course, the Rex grasped at its blue friend's neck, who then let out a groan. "Oh no god!" They fought. "Oh dear god in heaven--"

A sudden lightening up of the dashboard stole Wash's attention away from his the dino world and the rex's sudden, but inevitable, betrayal. He shoved aside some trees and rocks to uncover the source of all the commotion. A small radar like screen, with two blimps on it. One, stationary, the other, quickly moving across the black.

For a moment, his eyes went wide, and he turned to look out the front window.

"Oh motherless son of a--"

The dino's would have to wait.

Swiftly, he reached upwards and grasped the talkie that hung from the ceiling. He held it to his mouth, leaning back slightly in the chair. "Captain, we got incoming Alliance Cruiser bearing right down on us." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the fast moving blip on the screen, and listened to the '_Bimp-Bimp-Bimp_' sound it generated.

Static came over the radio first, but only for a moment, then he heard a low male voice echo back. "_Ta ma de. _Have they spotted us?"

"I can't tell if—"

"Have they hailed us!?"

Wash looked over his instruments and flipped a couple switches, stuttering, "Well I...uh....I don't..." trying to think of a way to say, 'they might have, but I was too busy playing dino land to notice'.

Thankfully, he didn't have to explain before the voice of Captain Mal Reynolds came back on, "Wash, shut it down." A pause. "Now. Everything but the air."

()()()

She loved pretty things.

The Cap'n liked to tease her 'bout that, 'bout her lookin' at the fancy magazines in her spare time, lookin' at all the pretty dresses and gowns that real ladies wore. 'You don't need that stuff,' he'd say, 'and how to hell do you have time to look through magazines when you're suppose to be taking care of _my_ ship?!'

Wishfully, Kaylee ran her fingers over the picture - a lady dressed in a fine, frilly grown, with lots of bows and lace. The woman looked so delicate, long black hair pulled up in a fashionable way, pure skin, dark eye lashes. Letting out a sigh, the mechanic with the short brown hair and dark blue eyes snuggled further into her pillows, thinking of how wonderful it would be to own something so beautiful. But maybe the Captain was right—what would she do with a pretty thing like that? Couldn't do work in it, that's for sure. Kaylee thought about this for a moment, eyes drifting up from the magazine and across passengers lounge, that was all deserted, but for her.

There were chairs scattered about, totally mismatching with the yellow colored walls, and the Doc's room (even though they had no doctor) was across the floor a few strides, doors shut and dark. To the left of that was a winding stairway that led to the main hall. To the right of the infirmary was another stairway that led up closer to the hull, and to the right of _that_ was some sleeping quarters for passengers, which were empty.

She ran her left hand's fingers across the glossy pages again. _Someday...._

The pity party was interrupted by the erratic voice of Wash, coming in over the PA. "Kaylee!" She was up on her feet, up the left staircase, and into the hallway quicker than you could say "_Da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze_", the magazine, for the moment, forgotten.

"Kaylee—Go to black out, we're being buzzed!"

Luckily for her, the engine room was almost right next to the passenger lounge. It only took her about 5 seconds to jog there from the staircase. Inside her 'home away from home, away from home', the engine was turning away, the air was a bit misty, and the sound of working machinery reign supreme. _'Ka-shunk. Ka-shunk. Ka-shunk'._ Music to her ears.

To the immediate left of the door, hooked to the wall, was the com. She pressed the talk button."_Shi_. Goin' dark."

With the speed of a bee on steroids, Kaylee flipped some switches on the wall nearby then jogged over to the wall by the engine. She climbed up on top of some metal crates and flipped a couple more switches. The engine slowly started to quiet, it's hum decreasing in volume until it couldn't be heard and, after that, the lights flickered out, leaving the engine room perfectly black.

For a moment she stood there, on a crate she couldn't see, holding on to a part of the ceiling in order to balance herself.

Then she sighed, saying to no one in particular, "Okay, now I can't get down."

()()()()

Captain Andrew Pike, of the I.A.V Alliance Cruise _Dortmunder, _was on his way home.

He had been out on patrol for months. The heads of the fleet had chosen him to patrol the outer rim planets, telling him to make sure things were kept peaceful and quiet. At first, this sounded more like a pleasure cruise than anything else: nothing much ever happened on the outer planets aside from the stories about the cannibal men called Reavers. The hardest stuff someone usually would have to deal with would be 'Joe here stole my cow and now I am going to go steal his.' More often than not, it was incredibly dull.

Although this time, this time it was different. Instead of a pleasure cruise, he spent most of his time chasing after space pirates. They preferred the name 'space cowboy', but no one except the wanna-be's called them that. They were desperadoes, thieves, murders, every single one. And Pike and his crew were very,_ very_ tired of dealing with their sort and were very, _very_ ready to go home.

Pike had not seen his wife or baby daughter since he left several long months ago. Yes, he had been able to contact them, talk to them, listen to his baby girl ask, 'Daddy, when are you coming home'? But it just made him more desperate. The father half of him said he had no business out there and that should retire and be back with his wife but the good Alliance Captain side of him told him it was his duty to stay and defend his family.

Wasn't it?

But either way, duty or not, he was on his way home. And nothing—nothing—was going to hinder him from getting there. That is, until this popped up.

"What am I looking at?"

At present, he was standing in the main control room which was set up much like a large circle, with half of it glass and half of it glimmering metal. Across the walls and floors was scattered computers, dashboards, all colored a pure snow white. Loyal Alliance workers clicked away at them, dressed in a simple jumpsuit. They were men and women, mostly under the age of 35—raised in the Alliance schools, raised to work in the fleet. Youth. Young people. Saving the world, one bad guy at a time.

Pike should feel proud of them. And he did. But he really just wanted to go home.

In the middle of the circular room was a considerably smaller circle, raised up about two steps. It was ramped in with computers running along the sides. The Captain was standing in front of one, right hand pressed up against the dashboards side, left hand resting on the back of the soft, blue chair. His eyes laid upon a square screen in which a 3D image of a Alliance career was pictured.

The sailor who was sitting in the chair replied, "It's a carrier, blew out a few months back. Lost all hands." The youth's voice was barren of any emotion. "But it's mostly a skeleton crew anyway."

Pike straightened his back, hands at his sides. "Damn shame." He attempted to sound sorry as he looked out through the glass and saw the career floating 'dead in the water', but honestly couldn't find it in him to really care. "No point in checking for survivors?"

All he wanted to do was go home.

()()()

Back aboard Serenity, Wash sat silently in a dark cockpit, sea blue eyes staring at the radar screen, with its red light cascading across his face and com gripped in hand. He turned and looked out through the glass, as a monstrous ship sailed slowly by, all lit up and about fifty times Serenity's size.

It would have been epic if it wasn't his personal doom he was staring at. If the Alliance got them, they would find him and _bam_ his dream of living on his own oasis, sipping a margarita, and watching his wife take a bubble bath would be gone. The Alliance would personally make sure of that. He would probably end up scrapping a living off some backwoods mining company and his wife's prostituting.

Maybe he could make some money selling his Dinosaur collection. They were sort of antiques, and someone out there might pay a pretty dollar. Maybe....

No. That was out of the question. The dino's stayed.

"Wash?" Mal's voice whispered over the talkie. "They slowin' down?"

"That's a neg," he whispered back, swiveling himself over to the other side of the board. "Doesn't look like they're interesting in us. We should be eating wake in a minute or two."

()()()

Outside, Mal, Jayne, and Zoe watched the cruiser sail silently by, lights flashing, metal shining, reflecting off their helmets. No one moved, no one breathed, no one spoke. All just watched in utter and perfect silence as the ship went by.

()()()

"Sir, there's a reading on that thing," the 'sailor' suddenly spoke, looking over his shoulder at Pike. "Some residual heat."

Pike's interest was peeked. His wife would love it if her husband saved some poor souls off a wreck and anyway, even when home was in his sights, he needed to be decent.

"Do a sweep."

()()()

A loud beeping interrupted Wash's trance and his eyes moved away from the cruiser and onto the board, where a bright red button was flashing away.

"_Aiya! Huaile._" The he grabbed for the talkie. "Captain, we're humped!"

()()()()

"Prep the ship now!" Mal snapped, his mind starting to play all the different endings that this predicament might foretell—and none of them were very pretty. He looked between his two companions. "We move this double time!"

()()()

"It's a transport ship...Firefly Class."

Pike was slightly surprised at this new development, but not very. Vessels of this sort were becoming more and more common the farther out into the black you go. However, he would have some credit to give whoever flew on that thing for being able to hide themselves.

Not too much credit, though. Pike had a feeling of what kind of human being he was dealing with.

The youth looked up at him, and for the fire time, Pike noticed wisps of brown hair sticking out from underneath the man's radio helmet. "They still make those?"

"Illegal Salvage," Pike sighed. "Low life vultures picking the flesh off the dead."

His mind flashed back to the incidents at occurred on their patrol. 'Space cowboys' was a bunch of _shiong mao niao._ Those people had no respect for others—especially the Alliance's—property. Stealing whatever they want, whenever they want, from whoever is most available, then selling their contraband to the highest bidder. These 'cowboys' didn't care who they hurt in the process, as long as they got the money. Pike's anger flared at men like this, men without respect, men without _honor_.

"Should we deploy gunships and bring her in?"

Pike didn't need to think his reply over. "Do it."

()()()

Mal and his gang were transporting the goods from the wreck to Serenity's hull faster than a kid could fib but it just wasn't good enough. They needed more time. _Well, lets do it then. _

He turned back in to Wash's signal. "Cry baby cry."

"Make your mother sigh," Wash's voice echoed back. "Engaging the crybaby."

Mal watched as a small can shaped projectile suddenly shoot out of Serenity and into space. He couldn't help but grin at his own ingenuity. It was an old war trick. Could be used on the ground just as well in space. A brilliant idea—sheer genius. Oh, how Mal did loved his own mind. It was a beautiful, but odd place to be.

()()()()

_If they were any sort of moral human being--_

"Captain?"

Pike was jostled from his thoughts.

"I am picking up a distress signal thirteen clicks ahead from a…" The youth's voice trailed off for a moment. Pike could hear other voices coming from his earpiece. "...sounds like a personnel carrier. Definitely a big ship, sir, and she's without power."

_--Damn them._

()()()

As soon as the threesome were inside the airlock, with the goods safely on the grounds around them, Mal clicked on his helmet's radio one last time. "Wash, we're on. Go."

With helmet in hand, Jayne grinned sneakily to himself from underneath a crudely shaved mustache. "Let's moon 'em"

()()()()

This was his favorite part.

With one smooth move, Wash pushed himself straight again and grasped both hands to the controls, feeling the smooth metal under his hands. He eased himself back slightly in the chair, relishing the moment, but then remembered what was at stake if he didn't get out of there pronto.

"Hang on, travelers." he murmured to no one in particular.

He _would_ see his wife bathe.

At once, Serenity's engines jumped to life, shooting yellow flame out the back. And with the grace of a Russian Ballerina, she shot off into the 'final frontier'.

()()()()

They were fleeing.

Pike was not dismayed. Usually, these renegades turned tail and scattered. It was just their way.

"They're rabbiting it, sir. Should we continue deployment?"

Now was where the decision making came in: catch thosespace junkies or save some Alliance workers. He thought for a moment or two, biting his bottom lip and looking out after the firefly, which was quickly zooming off. It was _incredibly_ tempting to go zapping after those infidels. The thought just made his blood pressure go. But...

"Our gun ships would never get back to us in time." He heaved a 'well, another day then' kind of sigh. "All right. Let's go help these people. But put a bulletin on the Cortex and Flag Interpol. A firefly with possible stolen goods on board.

He should call his wife, could hear it now. 'Sorry honey, won't be home as soon as I thought.' Then he turned and walked away. "Maybe somebody'll step on those roaches."

_I am_ never_ going to get home._

()()()

**Loved? Hated? Either way, tell me so! :D**


End file.
